


for the love of the game

by niskanens



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: American Hockey League, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niskanens/pseuds/niskanens
Summary: “Hey, buddy!” Taylor exclaims.“Back and better than ever, it seems,” Jordan says as he tosses his practice bag onto the ground.His cheeks are red – mostly from the walk to the arena from his car, but also because he’d never been so nervous to see Taylor.





	for the love of the game

**Author's Note:**

> all i've ever wanted is an ebs/hallsy cowboy au, so there's a good chance this will be the first of a few to come. enjoy

Taylor swings his leg over the side of the rink, straddling the wood as he tentatively presses a foot down on the ice. It feels as solid as can be in the late Iowa spring. He grins, pushing himself off the boards and jogging out of the barn towards his truck. Taylor lifts the net out of the bed and grabs his skates, stick and a bag of pucks from the passenger seat.

This has been a long time coming. After his knee surgery last spring, Taylor figured he’d be stuck working on the farm forever. Luckily, though, with a lot of pain killers, the help of his friend Ryan and some determination, he’d been cleared to play. He was so close to the national league he could almost touch it, and nothing was going to stop him now.

After lacing up his skates and setting up the net, Taylor throws a few pucks out onto the ice. He hops over the makeshift boards and starts skating. He’s hesitant at first, bending his bad knee a bit to test things out – but a feeling of comfort begins to bubble up in his chest and it feels entirely like he’d never left. The ice is dark; the dingy spotlight hung behind the net casting shadows across the rink. Rigged snow machines blast freezing air into the small space, something Ryan’s dad had conjured up. Taylor tugs the hood of his sweatshirt over his head as he does a few more laps, using his stick to grab a puck and go top shelf. The black disc hits the upper right-hand corner of the net and Taylor lets out a chuckle, crouching down to touch the ice in celebration.

He completes a few more laps, basking in the way he practically flies around the rink. Hockey was an outlet for Taylor. As his father showed him how to plow fields and care for newborn calves, the ice was waiting for him. He got better, spending more time at the rink in Des Moines and with teammates who had built rinks on their acres of land. Iowa had always been good to him.

The sudden crunch of tires on gravel causes Taylor to turn his attention to open door, watching as a familiar red SUV comes to a halt in front of the barn.

“Using my rink without even askin’, huh?” Ryan yells as he jumps out of the vehicle and walks inside the building.

“What, you want me to take you on a date first?” Taylor jokes halfheartedly, skating over to the corner of the ice closest to where Ryan now stood.

“Nah,” the other boy replies. “None of that homo shit.”

Taylor rolls his eyes, shoving his best friend’s shoulder with a gloved hand. “Are you gonna come show me what you got or keep chirpin’? We both know you could use the ice time.”

Ryan laughs as he pulls the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands. A particularly cold gust of wind hits through the open doors, forcing the pair to turn away from each other.

“Actually,” Ryan raises his voice over the wind. “My mother wants to know if you’ll be eating with us tonight.”

Taylor shrugs, eyes watering as he pushes himself over the boards. He unlaces his skates and steps into his boots, not bothering to tie them. He walks out of the barn to the driveway as Ryan stays behind to shut off the lights. Taylor throws the rest of his gear into the bed of his truck and leans up against it as he watches Ryan shut and lock the heavy rusted barn doors.

“You know,” Ryan clears his throat. “I wasn’t really sure if I should bring this up or not.”

Taylor’s hand tightens around his keys. “What?”

“We’re playing the Griffins in the first round of the playoffs.”

 _Oh_. Taylor nods. “I knew that.”

“But did you know that they just picked up Sam?”

Taylor blinks, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He can feel the wind biting at his neck. “What’s your point, man?”

Ryan crosses his arms. “You seriously don’t care? Quit being gay, dude. He put you out for almost a year. You should want to fuck him up.”

Taylor swallows hard, his breathing getting heavier as he opens the door to his truck and climbs in. Ryan follows suit and the two sit in silence while Taylor starts the engine, heat blasting through the dusty air vents.

“Look, I— I need this comeback to be perfect. I can’t be worried about dumb shit like that anymore if I’m trying to make it,” Taylor answers. He can hear Ryan let out a frustrated sigh.

“Neither can I. We all wanna go pro. But that doesn’t mean you should ignore this. You’re our captain. Try to be tough for once.”

“It was an accident, Ryan, get over it.” Taylor had thought about the injury and that game and the odds of him even being drafted every day since. He was tough, just not in the way that everyone thought a top prospect should be. Besides, hurting Sam back wouldn’t mean anything. After all, Taylor had already done worse.

 

The locker room feels the same; white walls littered with team decals and inspirational quotes, wooden lockers labeled with names and stocked with jerseys. The Wild’s team logo is still stuck in the center of the carpeted floor, all forest green and yellow and red and familiar. Taylor bites the inside of his cheek as a sense of pride washes over him.

“Welcome back, Captain,” Coach Howard grins, giving the returned player’s arm a tap with his clipboard as he makes his way past.

Some of the guys begin to trickle in a few minutes later. Taylor acknowledges them with fist bumps and high-fives, trying to listen to everything they’re saying. After a moment, the excitement dies down and Taylor takes a seat in his locker. His fingers are clumsy as he ties and reties his black and white skates, the laces feeling almost strange in his hands. He stands up to tug on the forest green practice jersey, an unfamiliar sense of anxiety overcoming him.

The white double doors swing open and in walks Jordan, Taylor’s best friend and teammate since they’d both learned how to hold a stick at the age of four.

“Hey, buddy!” Taylor exclaims.

“Back and better than ever, it seems,” Jordan says as he tosses his practice bag onto the ground. His cheeks are red – mostly from the walk to the arena from his car, but also because he’d never been so nervous to see Taylor.

Jordan steals a glance at him. The captain’s blonde hair is sticking out from under his white baseball cap and the sides of his blue eyes crinkle as he laughs at something said from across the room. There were rumors; whispers between guys on their way to the showers. Because the team was young and dumb and spending nearly every minute together, it was easy for a thought said in passing to become more than it once was. Ryan’s homophobic jokes didn’t help either but that was the culture of the league. When Jordan looks at Taylor he wonders if he knows and he wonders if they’re true. Part of him hopes so.

When most of the team is accounted for and dressed they head out to the rink. Skates scrape ice, sticks attack pucks and Taylor feels like he can breathe for the first time in a while. He stays by the bench, stretching with a few other guys as the assistant coach barks in his ear about taking it slow and testing things out and making sure his health comes first.

Taylor shrugs him off, grabbing his stick and joining Ryan and Jordan on the blue line. They go through the motions, completing skating drills and messing with Connor, the bright-eyed assistant captain who was as gullible as he was talented. Coach Howard puts an emphasis on working their line; despite hockey having consumed him for most of his life, Taylor was finding it hard to integrate himself back into the team.

“It’s not you, dude,” Ryan remarks, giving his best friend a tap with his stick. “We’re just not good line-mates.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Jordan mumbles.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Taylor says quietly. The captain didn’t want to admit that he was terrified of getting hurt again. Focusing so much energy on making sure his knee didn’t ache had made his accuracy suffer. That’s what everyone, including pro scouts, knew him for. That combined with the idea of letting his team down a second season in a row made him so anxious he thought his heart would give out. Lost in his thoughts, Taylor looks away from his line mates and lets his mind go to where he usually never let it: last spring.

_Taylor digs his skates into the ice, gliding to the end of the rink as fast as he can. Four minutes remain in the period and his team, the Wild, are on the power play. Down by one and with a freshly stitched ‘C’ shining proud on his jersey, Taylor figures it’s his responsibility to seal the deal. He grabs the puck from where it’s slid into the corner of the boards._

_Moving up the ice, Taylor passes the black disc to his teammate, Connor. He watches intently as Connor catches it with his stick and winds up for a slap shot. Guys from the opposing team crowd the ice in front of the net. Taylor skates into an open spot a little to the left as his eyes scan the situation. Connor decides against the shot and passes the puck to Ryan, who meets it with his stick and shoots it over to Taylor._

_Before Taylor can complete the pass, a player from the other team comes charging towards him. Taylor realizes what’s happening long after he can do anything about it. Knee collides on knee and Taylor is thrown into the boards. He lays on the ice as whistles blow and his teammates surround him, his knee throbbing in a pain that makes his heartbeat slow. A trainer is positioned above him and his mouth moves, but Taylor can’t make it out. His vision blurs and before they can get him onto a stretcher, all he can see is black._

“Hey, are you good, dude?” Jordan says, concern lacing his voice.

Taylor snaps his head to look at the other boy and nods quickly. The last thing he wants to do is worry Jordan. He rests up against the hard wood of the boards and scans the ice and the bleachers, trying to get out of his head. He’s sweating under his gear despite the chill of the ice. He moves his stick out to grab a puck and skates back to the blue line. He faces the net and takes a slap shot, watching as the puck hits the crossbar with the mocking noise of metal ringing. Ryan and Jordan exchange nervous glances when Taylor slams his stick against the ice in frustration.

 

As flowers bloom, anticipation grows with them like weeds. All of Des Moines is itching to see their team lift the Calder Cup and it consumes the 19-year-old captain’s thoughts in a way only one other entity had done before. But that was over now. _Calder. Calder. Calder._

The first game of the playoffs approaches faster than Taylor would have liked. Days lessen to hours and minutes and his hands shake as he shoves his helmet on. The crowd is deafening when the team spills onto the ice for warmups, the ringing in his ears worsening. Taylor tries to focus on what he knows best – the skating, the passing, the joy of goals scored. Nerves are for other people. But it’s hard when he’s positioned at center ice, staring Sam in the eye as they wait for the puck to drop.

Taylor tries to shut off the areas of his brain that don’t revolve around hockey. His thoughts grow numb as he checks someone – he doesn’t see who – into the boards, scooping up the puck and heading down the ice in a breakaway. The next thing he feels are arms pulling him into a group hug and it’s the only way he knows he scored.

For the most part, Taylor doesn’t have any issues with Sam. There are times when the taller boy has to shove him up against the boards to wrestle for the puck, but that’s the extent of their contact for the rest of the game. In a way, his chest feels heavy because of it. Jordan, of course, offers to rough him up.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Taylor pleads.

“Watch me.”

So, Jordan starts to mess with Sam. Little taps with his stick here and there and a lot of trash-talking for good measure. Coach tells Jordan to back off, which only fuels his fire. During the next play, he finds himself grabbing Sam by the collar. Sam tries shaking him off but Jordan is taller and stronger and for a moment, they’re just shoving each other. As soon as Jordan lets go, he throws his gloves off and punches Sam so hard he's sure the fans can hear his nose crack. Blood hits the ice like fat raindrops and Sam tackles Jordan, both of them falling to the ground as the bleeding boy tries to get one in. A whistle is blown and a few guys from each team help separate the pair.

“What did I even do to you?” Sam yells, holding a glove to his nose and pushing through the group of players trying to hold him back.

“You’re a fuckin’ joke, bud. Put someone else on my team out for a season and I’ll fucking kill you. Mark my words,” Jordan screams back, sweat dripping down his face. He flexes his right hand, knuckles burning and streaked with red.

When the referees finally pull the pair away from each other, Sam is grabbed by a trainer and escorted to the visitor’s locker room. It takes everything in Taylor’s body not to follow them. He’s probably the last person Sam wants to see and he knows his team needs him. But he can’t shake a feeling of dread so he waits until the period is over.

Taylor walks quickly through the maze of hallways, knowing he has less than twenty minutes to reconcile with the only boy he’s ever loved. He turns a corner and sees him sitting there, holding a white towel to his nose and clutching a water bottle. Sam looks up.

“Hi,” Taylor murmurs after a minute. He’s suddenly feeling smaller than himself.

Sam lets out a sigh. “I figured it would be you doing this to me.”

“You know I would never—“

“You already did.”

Taylor bites down hard on his lip and glances at the clock. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. I told him not to do anything.”

Sam shrugs and shakes the dark brown hair out of his eyes. “I’m fine. Teammates defending teammates, right?”

“Sure,” says Taylor. He decides to go out on a limb. “I’ve, uh, missed you.”

“You haven’t spoken to me in a year, Taylor,” Sam snaps. “How can you say that? We— we were so good, man. And you fucked it up.”

Taylor liked to think he knew Sam as intimately as he knew hockey. They were friends for longer than they were something more. Sam was hard to figure out; being anything but straight in the league was difficult in itself, but refusing to come out and instead putting up a front was indefinitely more exhausting. Despite this, no matter how defensive and insecure Sam became, Taylor would never stop caring for him. Even if it hurt Taylor in the process.

Taylor shrugs, looking at anything but Sam as he struggles to explain himself. He picks at the skin on his thumb, accidentally ripping open a scab. He winces. “You know it was never comfortable for me. Guys were talking—“

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Sam whispers, leaning back to rest his head against the wall. “Why did you think cheating on me would make it okay?”

“I’m sorry, Sam, a million times over. I’m so sorry.”

           

Coach barrels into the locker room. “Great fuckin’ job tonight, boys,” he shouts, his suit jacket clinging to the sweat on his body. He praises the team for a few more moments, tacking some criticism on the end to make sure they don’t get too full of themselves.

It’s right after the third game of the first round and the team is buzzing. They undress in the noise of side conversations and playlist someone insisted on creating at the beginning of the season, bass bouncing off the walls. The first two games had been a breeze despite Jordan breaking Sam’s nose. Tonight had ended in a double overtime win for the Wild, a first in franchise history and Taylor really believes they could make it to the final. Whatever is off the ice is what he’s unsure about. Jordan and Ryan sit on either side of him, throwing socks at each other while they decide on dinner plans. No one feels like spending money, so they decide on going back to Jordan’s place and seeing if his mom has any leftovers they can devour.

The pavement of the parking lot is slick with rain and the glow of an orange streetlight illuminates Taylor’s truck. He tosses his bag into the bed and climbs in, slumping back in his seat as soon as the door slams shut. Before he can back out, though, there’s a sudden tapping on his window that makes him let out a yelp.

He rolls down the window and comes face to face with Jordan. The older boy just stares and Taylor waits for him to say something. It takes a moment.

“I just, uh, wanted to ask you a question,” Jordan mumbles. “We never really get a second to talk away from Ryan. And this has been kind of been on my mind.”

“Okay,” Taylor nods, subtly shutting the engine off. In the back of his brain, he knows what this is.

“Are you and Sam more than friends?”

Taylor looks away. “Why would you—”

“I saw you leave to talk to him after I broke his nose. That combined with the rumors going around and how he hurt you last season, I just think it makes sense,” Jordan replies slowly.

“Um,” Taylor pauses. “What rumors?”

Jordan’s eyes widen. “You haven’t… Uh, a bunch of guys said they saw certain, um, pictures on Sam’s phone a few weeks ago.”

Taylor leans forward and puts his head in his hands. “Jordan, I…”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“We were. I mean, we were more than friends, once. Not anymore,” Taylor mumbles.

“Can I ask what happened?”

Taylor shrugs halfheartedly. “We both worked at Ryan’s brother’s camp last fall. I don’t think he wanted it to be serious, but it felt real, you know? He made sure I didn’t tell anyone.”

Jordan raises an eyebrow. “Is that why he hurt you? Did it get out or something?”

“No,” Taylor replies bitterly. “I cheated on him and he expressed his anger in the best, maybe only, way he knows. But I deserved it. Even if I was just trying to feel loved.”

The pair are quiet for a moment. The only noise in the dark parking lot is the hum of Taylor’s engine and the nervous tapping of Jordan’s fingers against the cold exterior of the truck.

“I’m sorry, man,” Jordan doesn’t know what else to say. “You can talk to me about anything, okay? Even heavy shit like this.”

Taylor gives him a weak smile. “Thanks. Don’t tell Ryan, though. I’m not really ready for that conversation.”

“Sure. But does this mean, you, uh, like guys? Like, _like_ -like guys?” Jordan asks.

“I think so,” the captain whispers, running his thumb over the grooves in his car key. He presses a little harder and his finger turns white.

Jordan glances at him. A smile tugs at his lips. “Cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yeah, cool. I’ve always had a little bit of a crush on you.”

Taylor blanches at this, unsure what to say. He lets the keys rest in his lap.

“I mean—” Jordan’s cheeks begin to turn red. “I’m just kidding. That was a joke. I just want you to know that I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, bud,” Taylor lets out a small chuckle. Acceptance feels better than he ever thought it would and he nearly leaps through the open window to pull Jordan into a hug. But instead he just sits there, happiness radiating in his chest like the sun.

 

Days pass in an exhaustive haze but the Wild manage to defeat the Griffins in six games. It’s a bumpy ride to the finish – Ryan’s playing with a broken rib. Morgan, one of the assistant captains, has a two-game suspension for a particularly nasty hit he was a little too proud of. But they’re farther than they’ve ever been, and that’s all that matters.

There’s three days off before the first game of the second round and Taylor spends every waking moment at Ryan’s rink, practicing his accuracy and feeling out a few kinks in his knee. He has to wear a brace due to the strain he’s put on it and that makes him nervous for the future.

The captain works until his legs almost give out beneath him. Around him, the air is cold and stale and the wooden walls of the barn creak as the wind blows against them. Taylor knows that if he wants to lead his team to any kind of victory he has to push through the pain. Being drafted in the first round is looking more and more impossible. After taking one last halfhearted lap around the ice, he carefully swings his legs over the boards and begins to pack up his gear.

The barn door is suddenly thrown open and Taylor jumps, nearly stepping on the blade of one of his skates. He turns around and comes face to face with Sam.

“Hi,” the taller boy blurts out, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

“Hey,” Taylor replies slowly. For a second, he doesn’t know if he’s imagining this.

“Um. I— I know you’re heading to California tonight. And I’m gonna be at a, uh, camp in Calgary. So. I just needed to come see you in person.”

In any other circumstance, Taylor would be biting his cheek to prevent a stupid grin from lighting up his face. Butterflies would be dancing in his stomach right now. But he’s tired, his knee is aching, and he’s sick of Sam’s bullshit.

“For what?” He says through his teeth, turning his attention back towards his bag.

“The last time we talked I was mad. I have every right to be, you know? But I think I get where you’re coming from now. I’ve been getting a lot of weird looks lately.”

“Sucks for you,” Taylor mumbles as he throws his bag onto his shoulder and begins to walk out the door. The sun is setting, rays of golden light peeking through the trees lining the gravel drive.

“Have you told anyone?” Sam follows behind him.

“About what? Us? Me being gay? Why do you suddenly give a shit, Sam?” Taylor tosses his equipment into his truck and turns to face the other boy, brows furrowed and arms crossed.

“I just— uh, I thought we could talk about things.”

Taylor stares at Sam, taking in his brown hair, brown eyes. He remembers when he would do anything to just look at him and now he can barely stand it.

“You know, Sam, in a way, you made me feel awful for what I did. I guess I deserved that. But you also made me feel awful for being gay. The fact that you never let me tell anyone? That’s fucked up, man.”

Sam seems caught off guard and for a second his mouth just hangs open. “Taylor, I didn’t realize…”

“As soon as I made a mistake, I was the reason our relationship was falling apart. I felt bad about what I did for a long time. But now I’m realizing that maybe it was the best thing I could’ve done.”

“Do you really mean that?” Sam says slowly, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“You held me back from a lot of things. My knee might never get better,” Taylor’s voice cracks. “But if I hadn’t broken us up then I wouldn’t be as comfortable with myself as I am now.”

Sam looks away. “I’m really sorry, Taylor.”

“I know you are.”

A moment passes, quiet and somber.

“I just don’t know how to get past the comments and the jokes—“

Taylor nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’s hard, you know? A lot of guys can’t accept it. But Jordan got it out of me a few weeks ago and it felt a lot better than denying it.”

“I’m happy for you,” Sam takes a step forward. “And I’m sorry. I’m trying to not be so afraid.”

Taylor just stares at him. “Yeah. I hope you can come to terms with it.”

The two look at each other for a few moments and it feels like the end of something. Something that had consumed Taylor for a time longer than he would have liked. Something that he used to hold on to, but now, wanted to push away with every ounce of his being.

“Well, I’ll let you get outta here then,” Sam bites his lip. “Good luck next week, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Taylor answers. Before he can think twice, he steps forward and pulls Sam in for a hug. He smells like clean laundry and the cologne he’d gotten him for his birthday. They hold each other until the sun sets and the automatic lights on the barn illuminate the driveway.

Taylor climbs into his truck and Sam rests his hand on the door.

“Not to be sappy,” Sam mumbles. “But I’ll always love you, dude.”

Taylor glances down at his phone, vibrating quietly in the passenger seat.

                        **Jordan**

_Saved you a seat on the bus bro!_

Taylor looks back at Sam through the open window and musters a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”


End file.
